


Gotterdammerung It, Louis

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Drama, Drunken sex, Humor, M/M, a wee bit of angst, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 11:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14472138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: Harvey loses a bet with Louis, and must accompany him for a night out. They drink a lot. Events transpire.





	Gotterdammerung It, Louis

**Author's Note:**

> Egged on by frivoloussuits, I have written a Harvey/Louis (Larvey) fic. Because ... why not? 
> 
> I dare you to read it.

“Fair’s fair, Harvey. No welching.” Louis grinned hugely and vibrated with excitement – smug, annoying, _I got you this time, Specter_ excitement. “I won, and I get to choose the show.”

Harvey might have been more annoyed, but despite the way he treated Louis, he’d always harbored a small (teeny, tiny, miniscule) bit of affection for the clueless twit, not to mention unbounded respect for his lawyering skills.

And Louis was right. They’d bet on whose billables would be highest last month. The numbers were in, and Louis had edged him out by a nose. A Louis-sized nose, sure, but the actual size was less relevant than the fact that now Harvey had to pay up. He was obligated to accompany Louis for a night out at the theater, preceded by dinner, and followed with drinks. He’d envisioned enduring the latest Broadway hit, and throwing back a scotch or two. Louis, however, had other ideas.

“I’m not welching,” said Harvey. “But, opera? What did I do to deserve that?”

"Don't you like opera?" Louis asked this in the same way he might have asked, "Don't you like sex?" or, "Don't you like oxygen?"

"I've never actually attended one," Harvey admitted, "but I've naturally assumed I would hate it."

“Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. An opera virgin. This is amazing. Don't worry. I'm going to take such good care of you. I'll pop your opera cherry in the best way, and leave you with memories to last a lifetime. I’ve scored us tickets to this Friday's performance of … wait for it ... _Gotterdammerung._ ”

“Goddamn what, now?”

“Wagner? The _Ring_ cycle? You've never heard of it? Well, my friend, you are in for a real treat. I know you have a tux, and I insist you wear it. I'll make us dinner reservations at _Mi Novio_. Don't you worry about a thing. Do not worry your pretty little virgin head."

"Louis …"

Louis bit his lip and squinted. "I, uh, should probably warn you …"

Harvey tightened his throat around the growl that threatened to escape. "Warn me about what?"

"Just … get plenty of sleep the night before."

Dreading the answer, Harvey asked, "Why?"

"It’s one of Wagner's longer operas."

"Okay, what are we talking? Two hours? Three? Three and a half?"

Pursing his lips, Louis shook his head.

"Four?" Growing unease filled Harvey. "Just tell me."

"With intermissions, over five hours."

"Oh, fuck me. I've had relationships shorter than that."

"BIg surprise there."

Harvey closed his eyes, breathed in, and breathed out, praying without hope that this was all some bizarre nightmare. When he opened his eyes again, Louis was still standing in front of his desk, still on the verge of weeping with joy.

Well, shit. Harvey could be gracious when the need arose, or at least give a decent counterfeit of graciousness. "I look forward to a night of culture, good food, and even better companionship." He pasted a charming grin on his face. "Just don't expect me to put out, all right?"

"Ha. Don't rule anything out. The final act is a real panty dropper."

 

******

 

The final act was a real snooze fest.

Harvey received two elbows to his ribs from Louis, who after that, evidently decided it wasn't worth his effort to keep him awake. Wild applause and full-throated cheers finally woke Harvey, to find he had his head on Louis' shoulder. He jerked upright, blinking rapidly and swallowing convulsively, trying to work some moisture back into his mouth.

"What'd I miss?"

Louis shot him a pitying glance and stood with the rest of the audience, whacking his hands together, and letting out what seemed like an uncalled for number of _bravos_ and _bravas._

Standing on creaking knees, Harvey applauded politely. Any enthusiasm he mustered had more to do with gratitude that the ordeal had finally come to an end. Or … no, he remembered, there was more ordeal to follow. He'd agreed to after-opera drinks with Louis.

They took a cab to a nice bar with a comfortable, clubby feel to it, and Harvey found himself impressed with Louis' choice, just as he had been at dinner. Harvey ordered a scotch, and Louis opted for a whiskey sour.

After the drinks arrived, and they'd each taken a few sips, Louis launched into a half-rhapsodic, half-critical recap of the evening's entertainment, droning on about chromaticism, and leitmotifs, and the stunning contralto, and griping about the muddy orchestration in Act Two, and several distractingly bungled cues which Harvey had either completely missed, or had slept through.

Finally pausing to take a breath, Louis asked, "Don't you agree?"

"Uh." Harvey took a drink to buy a little time. He decided honesty was the best move. "I'm no expert, but my overriding impression of the thing was that it was really fucking long."

Louis gaped at him, wrinkling his nose as if he'd gotten a whiff of something unpleasant. Then his lips pursed, and he ducked his head, fighting a smile. "To tell you the truth," he began in a confiding tone, "I've seen it half a dozen times, and there always comes a point in Brunnhilde's immolation scene where she keeps singing and singing, and like, will not shut up, and I want to stand up and yell, ‘Just die already!’"

 _Immolation?_ Harvey's ears perked up at that. Had he slept through something good?

Louis was still talking. "All that thunderous applause at the end? Half those people were just thrilled that the damn thing was over."

One thing Harvey had always admired about Louis (not that he would ever admit it), was his ability to turn on a dime, from pompous to gleeful. “Is that why you were applauding so hard?” Harvey asked.

“Naw. I didn’t mean to imply I don’t think it’s a masterpiece, because I absolutely do. It’s an endurance test, sure, but when that flood wipes everything out, and the world is remade, and those Rhinemaidens show up again … it’s freaking amazing. Of course, it helps if you’ve seen the first three operas in the cycle.”

“Huh.” _Floods? Maidens? The end of the world?_ Louis’ enthusiasm almost had Harvey wishing he’d stayed awake. Almost. “Even though it wasn’t my cup of tea, thanks for including me in the evening.”

Louis grinned, putting his prominent front teeth on display. “Full disclosure? I might have been purposely trying to torment you for being such a massive douchebag these last few weeks. So, for that I apologize.”

Harvey gave him a hard stare, thought about saying something incendiary, and changed his mind. Monday morning, they might be at one another’s throats again, but he had to admit this brief détente was … nice. Why spoil it? “No apology required,” he said smoothly, and raised his glass in a toast of sorts, giving Louis a genuine smile.

Louis’ answering smile stretched across his face, and maybe it was the late hour, or the scotch, or Harvey’s weariness after a long week, but suddenly, he got it, what Sheila and Tara had seen in Louis. He would never be the usual pretty face that Harvey went for -- he was no Mike Ross – but he had … _something_. Maybe it was his dark eyes, or the broad shoulders, or even the faint stubble which had appeared after the long day and night, lending him an air of raw, animalistic –

_Whoa._

Harvey shook his head sharply and gave his drink a reproachful look. He was _not_ attracted to Louis Litt. No way. No how.

Still, just thinking about him that way for the first time, considering him in that light, had initiated a low, warm burn inside of him. Without really hearing what Louis was saying, he watched his mouth move, watched his large white teeth appearing and disappearing. His lips looked soft. 

What would it feel like to kiss him, Harvey wondered? What would he be like in bed?

A surprised laugh worked its way out of his throat. Louis paused mid-sentence, smiling tentatively, in a way that said, _let me in on the joke._

"It's nothing," said Harvey. "Never mind."

"I take it you agree, then?"

Harvey had no idea what Louis had just been saying. "I … ask me that again."

"I shouldn't even be the one bringing this up. You're his best man. You gotta do the bachelor party thing. He's going to expect it."

The smile drained from Harvey's face. _Ugh_. Couldn't people go just a few hours without talking about Mike and Rachel's impending nuptials? He downed his drink and signaled the waitress, trying not to look too desperate.

Louis was still talking. "It doesn't have to be tawdry. No strippers. Well, not stripper-strippers. Maybe some tasteful burlesque. With, I don't know, satin corsets and fishnets. Ample cleavage and saucy musical numbers."

"Saucy?"

"Brandy. Cigars. Guys doing guys."

Harvey gave a start, peering at Louis closely. "Don't you mean guys _being_ guys?"

A deep frown from Louis. "What did I say?"

Deciding to change the subject, Harvey asked, "Did you get them a present yet?"

"No way, Harvey. I'm not telling you what I got. Figure out your own gift."

"I wasn't – never mind. And what makes you think I haven't already found one?"

"I checked with Donna. You've rejected every single one of her suggestions."

Harvey sighed. They'd all been excellent suggestions, but he simply could not seem to commit to anything. It would make the whole wedding business feel too real. “Do you actually think Mike is a strippers sort of guy?”

“Not strippers. Burlesque.”

“Is there a difference?”

“The art of the tease, versus the art of the unrequited tease. Yeah, there’s a difference.”

Harvey gave Louis a reluctant smile. “You’ve obviously given this a lot of thought.”

“You’d be surprised at the things that come to the surface during my mudding meditations.”

Meditations? That was a new one.

“Anyway,” said Harvey, “getting back to Mike’s bachelor party. No strippers. No burlesque. No brandy.”

“What, are we holding the thing in a church?”

“No brandy,” Harvey repeated. “Scotch. I know this great bar with a fantastic tasting menu. They pair single malt scotch with different appetizers.”

“Two words, Harvey: Bore. Ing.”

“Says the opera fan. Louis, I don’t want to hear any more about it. I don’t intend to debauch Mike just before he marries the woman of his dreams.”

“Bah. Woman of his dreams today. Ball and chain of his nightmares in a year or two. I know you value fidelity, and I’m sure Mike would never stray, but he deserves the opportunity for one last wild night before the door on non-Rachel sex slams shut forever.”

“Strippers – excuse me, burlesque artists – are not prostitutes.”

“Then maybe we should get him one of those too.”

“Absolutely not.”

Harvey looked across the table to find Louis grinning at him, and realized he hadn’t been serious. Still, it angered him, thinking about it. He reached for his drink but found it empty again already. He signaled the waitress for another round.

Louis’ expression had turned shrewd. “You’re awfully touchy about this whole subject, Harvey.”

“I’m not touchy.” He frowned, self-aware enough to know that he was lying, and kept frowning down at the tabletop until their drinks arrived. Without regard for the subtleties of the expensive alcohol, he downed half of it in one gulp, feeling it heat his insides. “It’s just – ” He clamped his lips shut against the confession.

Louis, damn him, wasn’t going to let it slide. “It’s just what?” He leaned across the table, head cocked to one side, waiting for Harvey to unburden himself.

The hour was late, Harvey was tired, and more than a little drunk. He took another fortifying gulp of scotch. “I’m already losing Mike to one woman. Why the hell would I want to watch him drool over – or rub up against – another one?”

Louis’ eyes widened, and Harvey shook his head, annoyed with himself for revealing too much. He gave a twitch of surprise when Louis reached across the table to place a hand on his wrist.

“I did wonder,” Louis murmured. “A lot of things make more sense now.”

Harvey begged to differ. Lately, nothing made any sense to him. He said nothing in reply. This didn’t deter Louis, who continued talking.

“I get it, Harvey. I really do. You know the deal between me and Sheila. She’s marrying that jerk next week, and nothing I do or say will change her mind. You see? We have more in common than we ever realized.”

And wasn’t that a hell of a thing? Harvey nodded miserably and finished his drink. “I never said it, but I’m sorry about you and Sheila. It sucks.”

Louis scowled, looking every bit as miserable as Harvey felt. They both raised a hand at the same time, signaling the waitress for more drinks. It was already past midnight, but Harvey was more than willing to drink until the pain went away. Louis appeared intent on doing the same.

 

******

 

Insanely bright light stabbed at Harvey’s closed eyelids, trying to laser through to his tender eyeballs. He groaned and groped for a pillow to cram over his head. His hand encountered something soft, but it was not a pillow. Cracking open one eye, he discovered a man in bed next to him, with his back to Harvey. Short dark hair, broad shoulders, the rest hidden beneath the covers.

He didn’t recognize the bedroom. Another jolt of pain shot through his skull at the realization that he’d evidently been drunk enough last night to break his hard and fast rule of not going to a stranger’s home. One-night hookups happened from time to time, but he preferred the home court advantage.

Finally locating a pillow, he hid his head underneath it and waited for the room to stop spinning. The man next to him shifted and let out a snuffling snore – a snurfle, Harvey decided to name it. Then he muttered something in his sleep.

Harvey stopped breathing for a few seconds.

_No. It couldn’t be._

Keeping the pillow over his head, he frantically attempted to reconstruct the events of last night. What was the last thing he remembered? There had been a nice dinner. An interminable night at the opera. Drinks afterwards with … His mind shied away.

Another snurfle from next to him, followed by a familiar giggle. “Sheila, you naughty little strumpet,” mumbled the half-obscured lump of a man.

Slowly, Harvey pulled the pillow away from his head, leaned up on his elbows, and peeled back the covers far enough to reveal Louis sleeping beside him. “Holy crap,” he muttered.

Perhaps feeling the covers slips away, or hearing Harvey’s low curse, Louis rolled over and opened his eyes. Their gazes locked. “Oh,” said Louis. “Harvey.” He blinked rapidly. “Well, fuck me.”

“Louis, I don’t remember much about last night, but I’m guessing that’s already been covered.”

 

******

 

 Louis thrust a pile of Harvey’s clothes at him and pointed him in the direction of the guest bathroom. They both staggered off to shower, and dress, and shore up their defenses.

After drying off, Harvey checked himself in the mirror for any visible signs of … whatever had gone on last night. He found one purplish-red mark near his collarbone, and what looked suspiciously like teeth marks on his inner thigh.

Holding a palm to his forehead to keep his exploding brain from splattering the mirror, he squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to squeeze the memories from his aching head.

They’d been at the bar drinking. Louis brought up the topic of Mike’s theoretical bachelor party, and would not let it go. And then … and then Harvey had more or less confessed his feelings for Mike. Louis countered with Sheila, and the pity party was in full swing.

None of which explained how they’d ended up here.

Slowly, he dressed in his tux. His briefs were nowhere to be found, and he experienced an unpleasant thought of Louis keeping them as a trophy. He shook his head roughly to dispel the image. He considered sneaking out before he had to face Louis, but when he poked his head out of the bathroom, he heard him moving around in the kitchen. More importantly, he smelled fresh, strong coffee. He’d have one cup, he decided, for medicinal purposes.

It wasn’t only the coffee he needed to stay for. He and Louis did what they did (whatever that had been) and they should face up to it now. If they didn’t, they’d likely spend the rest of their professional lives with this new awkwardness between them.

He found Louis leaning against the kitchen counter, Litt Up mug in hand, staring blankly at the far wall. When he noticed Harvey, he gave him a look that contained everything Harvey was feeling – confusion, regret, and the urge to flee – plus an added hint of fear. Harvey focused on this. Was Louis afraid of how Harvey would react to their drunken shenanigans in the stark light of day? He supposed he couldn’t blame him. They’d come to blows in the past, and Louis had not fared well.

Harvey headed for the coffeepot. Another Litt Up mug already sat on the counter, so he filled it with coffee.  Taking his first (delicious) sip, he nearly laughed out loud. Yes, he supposed he had been Litt Up. Memories of what they’d done began filtering back in as caffeine got his neurons firing.

“Harvey? I, uh. I hope you’re not angry, about … you know … how the night ended.”

Harvey shook his head distractedly and attempted a smile, meant to reassure Louis. “I’m not. I just … wow. I don’t know the last time I was that drunk. How, exactly, did the night end?”

 

******

 

They were both laughing as they poured themselves out of the taxi and staggered into Louis’ building.

“Just look at us,” said Louis. “Two wildly successful attorneys. Name partners. You, ridiculously good-looking and kinda rich. Me, ridiculously rich and … well, I’m no underwear model, but I guess I do okay. And yet, in spite of our obvious superiority, it’s the pencil-necked felon who got the girl, not us. Where’s the justice?”

Harvey spent a few seconds giggling at the way Louis was slurring his words. It took him that long to realize what Louis had actually said. “Hey. He’s not pencil-necked. Not anymore. His neck now is … it’s a good neck.” A neck he wished he had the right to lick and bite.

“Maybe.” In the kitchen, Louis sloshed whiskey into two tumblers, and handed one to Harvey. “He is a felon, though. Can we stipulate to that?”

Harvey raised his glass. “So stipulated.” He was drunk enough that he could ignore the stab of guilt over the role he had played in that.

They drank, and then subsided into silence, each caught up in their own thoughts. Harvey was dwelling on the upcoming wedding, and Mike’s stated intentions to spend more time at the legal clinic, which Harvey interpreted as him extricating himself from Specter Litt. The too familiar ache of abandonment filled him, and he turned quickly away from Louis to hide the raw panic rising inside him.

“Do you remember,” asked Louis, “what he was like when you first hired him?”

Of course he did. Harvey nodded once, but remained silent, not trusting his voice. Not trusting himself to keep from weeping bitter, drunken tears. He sat on the couch and took thirsty gulps of Louis’ excellent whiskey.

“He was so young,” Louis was saying. “So brilliant and innocent, except he wasn’t innocent at all, was he?” He dropped down next to Harvey, shaking his head, lost in memory. “One minute, he was tanking a case with some idiotic rookie move, and the next, he was repairing his blunder with some genius legal bull crap. And the two of you together? Amazing. Batman and Robin. What a team.” Louis had brought the bottle with him, and now he refilled their glasses. “I guess it’s no secret that I was a little bit jealous of what you had. You two were so good together.”

Were. Past tense. Harvey’s throat closed up, and tears pricked his eyes. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Next to him, Louis had gone perfectly still. He set his hand on Harvey’s shoulder.

“Hey, man. Harvey? It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

He wasn’t sure who moved first. Maybe they both did at the same time. Whatever the case, Harvey found himself pressed against Louis, his face on his shoulder, his arms around his neck. Louis carefully removed the dangling glass from Harvey’s grasp, and set both tumblers on the coffee table before gathering Harvey up in his arms.

And then the floodgates opened. Harvey gasped, trying to hold back his tears, but it was no use. He bawled against Louis’ broad shoulder like he hadn’t done since he was a kid. His back heaved up and down, and moisture dampened Louis’ shirt.

Eventually, his sobbing resolved into a continuous litany of, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Ssh. Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry about.” Warm hands held the sides of his face and lifted it so that they were looking one another in the eyes. “He’ll always be your friend, no matter what.”

Harvey sniffed and wiped moisture from his cheeks, feeling foolish at his loss of control.  “I know. It just won’t be the same. And we’ll never – ” He couldn’t speak the words out loud. They’d never have a chance to be together. He let out a shaky sigh.

“And I will too, Harvey. Be your friend that is. And your partner. Unlike Mike and Jessica, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thanks, Louis. You’re … you deserve to be happy. You’re a good man.”

“Right back at you pal.” He handed Harvey his drink and picked up his own. They clinked their glasses together and drank.

“I should probably …” Harvey gave the front door a meaningful look.

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no. You should stay.” Then, without telegraphing what he intended to do, Louis leaned in and kissed Harvey.

“Whoa.” He placed his palm on Louis’ chest. “What are you – ”

Louis kissed him again. This time, Harvey didn’t protest. He sat perfectly still, not kissing him back yet, just waiting, evaluating. It … wasn’t awful, he decided.

Pulling back, Louis eyed Harvey with what looked like trepidation. “Well?” he asked. “Are you going to hit me?”

Harvey thought about it. “No. I’m not going to hit you.”

“Then …” Louis bit his lip, watching Harvey with worried eyes. “Would you possibly consider …” He swallowed nervously.

“What? Spit it out, Louis.”

Louis spoke rapidly, stringing the words together in one continuous blurt “Would you possibly consider accompanying me into the bedroom for the drunken revenge sex this night deserves?”

Harvey stared back at him long enough to make Louis squirm. There were a million reasons why this was a horrible idea, or so he assumed, but his whiskey-steeped brain couldn’t conjure up a single one of them in that moment. “Just to be clear,” he said, “I’m the top here.”

Louis grinned, happy and relieved. “Harvey, it would be my supreme honor to be your bottom boy.”

“Louis, you always were.”

 

******

 

Harvey’s memories of what happened next were fuzzy and disjointed. After they undressed, a round of fumbling, sweaty foreplay ensued. He remembered Louis on his knees, presenting Harvey with his hairy back, and his surprisingly attractive bottom. He remembered the way he squeal-sighed at the first intrusion of Harvey’s lubed fingers inside of him. He remembered the tight clench of him around his cock, the warmth and solidity of him in his arms, the heft of his hard cock in his hand. Neither spoke as Harvey rocked into him, restrained and gentle, almost polite.

Louis dropped to his elbows and shut his eyes, his breathing deep, slow and even. He smelled of expensive cologne and whiskey and sweat. His back hair bristled against Harvey’s chest, softer than it looked. When he came, he did so with a series of noisy, gulping sobs. He didn’t say Harvey’s name as he shuddered and creamed over his hand.

Harvey was drunk enough that it required extra effort to climax. When he’d been at it for a while, his movements grew mechanical, and he could feel Louis flinch with each thrust. Finally, he pulled out and stroked himself, quick and rough, until he spurted into the condom, sparing Louis’ Egyptian cotton sheets.

Moving with care, he disposed of the condom and ignored the faint nausea rising inside of him. Louis was already snoring when he made it back to the bed. At the thought of getting dressed and finding his way home, heavy weariness filled him. The bed was huge, and he already knew how comfortable the mattress was. He crawled facedown onto the bed, hugging the edge, and letting go of all his worries and regrets, tumbled rapidly into sleep.

 

******

 

“Well.” Harvey eyed Louis over the rim of his Litt Up mug, wishing he could think of something intelligent to say. “So … that happened.” He drank half his coffee, scalding his tongue and the roof of his mouth. “Now what?”

Louis grimaced. “Now nothing. If you’re worried that I’m some sort of needy, clingy, er, date or whatever, put your mind at ease. We had sex. Full stop. That’s it.”

“Was it … I mean, I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?”

“Harvey, you’re a gentle and considerate lover. No worries there. Just … don’t get hung up on me. My heart belongs to Sheila, and probably always will.”

Harvey hid a smile. “Understood. And for the record, it felt good to put my penis inside of you.”

Louis gave a snort of laughter. “Of course it did. It can’t happen again, though.”

“No. One time deal. My liver would never survive if I got that drunk on a regular basis.”

“And maybe we don’t speak of this ever again.”

Harvey nodded solemnly and stuck out his hand. “You’ve got a deal.”

They shook, and Harvey could only feel relieved. It looked as if they were going to move past this episode with minimal damage.

Louis sat on the couch, and Harvey pretended not to notice the fleeting tightening of his face, as if he was in pain.

“I’m gonna take off,” said Harvey.

Louis started to nod, but then appeared to remember something. “Wait. We never finished planning Mike’s bachelor party.”

“This again? Fine. I’ll tell you what. I’ll make reservations at a nice restaurant. In fact, what was the name of that place you took me to last night?”

“ _Mi Novio.”_

“That’s right. You, me, Mike. Can you think of anyone else we should invite?”

“He seems pretty tight with Benjamin from IT. Oh, and that kid … Oliver, I think his name is. From the clinic.”

“Perfect. We’ll have a nice dinner together. If Mike wants to get drunk, we can make sure he gets home okay. I think I’ll stick to water.”

“Ditto. And that sounds perfect. Mike will love it.”

To Harvey, it sounded like torture. At least Louis had given up on the idea of strippers-slash-burlesque-artists.

“All right, Louis. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. I’ll see you Monday.”

Harvey walked to the door, but before he made it there, Louis had scampered past him, blocking his way, one palm to Harvey’s chest.

“Harvey, I know that everything about last night was weird, and probably a gargantuan mistake. I just want you to know that in spite of that, I feel better about life this morning than I did last night. So, thank you. I’ll never forget this.”

What did Louis expect him to say to that? Me too? Harvey didn’t feel better. If anything, he felt worse, and as if he had cheated on Mike, which was ridiculous.

Louis was still talking. “I don’t just mean the sex, which I know we agreed not to talk about. The whole evening was really special to me. If you ever want a replay, all you have to do is say the word. _Tosca_ is up next on the schedule this season.”

“What’s a Tosca?”

“Oh my God Harvey, it’s cute that you’re such a newb. It’s an opera. Puccini. Very accessible. Angst, torture, murder, suicide. It’s got it all.”

“Thanks, buddy, but that’s gonna be a hard pass.”

Louis’ face contorted in disappointment, but then he managed a rueful smile. “Sure. I get it. We had last night, but we shan’t speak of it again.” His lips quivered, and his eyes grew damp.

Harvey bit back a sigh. “Louis …” He wasn’t sure what possessed him then, but he couldn’t leave Louis like this, with that weepy expression on his face. So, he did what he’d done with countless other one night stands. He grasped his chin, and kissed him softly.  “Goodbye Louis.”

He moved past him, and out the door. Mistake or not, he found himself smiling as he rode the elevator down to street level, and the Manhattan winter didn’t seem as cold as it had the day before.

 

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
